


Welcome to the Pack, Omega

by alisvolatpropiis



Series: Alpha Stiles [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Stiles, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Based on a Tumblr Post, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Omega Derek, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alisvolatpropiis/pseuds/alisvolatpropiis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this <a href="http://bilesandthesourwolf.tumblr.com/post/86872676004/derek-hale-is-a-wandering-omega-looking-for-a-pack"> delightful gifset on Tumblr</a></p><p>"Derek Hale is a wandering Omega looking for a pack to call his own. When he comes into Beacon Hills, he’s intercepted by the local pack. They take him to their Alpha who Derek is expecting to be an older werewolf. What he’s not expecting is for this kid that can’t be more than 20, with the smirk playing about his kissable looking lips, to be the Alpha. Needless to say, they don’t exactly get off on the right foot. But, Derek thinks later that night, he could easily find his home in Beacon Hills with Stiles Stilinski and his pack."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to the Pack, Omega

**Author's Note:**

> I have several WIP fics that I want to work on, but this [ delightful gifset on Tumblr](http://bilesandthesourwolf.tumblr.com/post/86872676004/derek-hale-is-a-wandering-omega-looking-for-a-pack) was too tempting to pass up. 
> 
> Oneshot right now, but maybe will become a longer fic once the others are done? Possibly a Supernatural crossover...?
> 
> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> Update: A very helpful reader let me know that the link to the gifset was broken when this was first posted. Should be working now. Thanks!!

Derek lets his head fall back against the tree, closing his eyes against the pain and clutching his arm where one of the bullets – the wolfsbane one – sliced through him. It’s a through-and-through, leaving a neat hole through this bicep that has almost healed completely around the small pocket of poison that’s still under his skin, spidering his arm with black veins. The sickening hot-cold burn of wolfsbane has his arm ablaze, but he’s trying to be thankful that the wolfsbane bullet is the one that hit his arm. The bullet in his back – only inches from his heart – is still lodged there, pain blossoming with every breath, nausea rising with each passing moment. It’s not wolfsbane – he never would have made it this far with a wolfsbane bullet still in him – but it’s not a regular bullet either, judging by the way it’s making the entire left side of his body somehow both numb and itchy. Not as lethal as wolfsbane, but something poison to him nonetheless. _Silver_ , he thinks, remembering the questioning look in the expression of the hunter who shot him and the way the woman, the blonde with the wolfsbane bullets, rolled her eyes at the guy like he was playing games when she was trying to conduct serious business. That hunter didn’t seem like a part of her group, a temporary alliance maybe, clearly not a strong one by the way she yelled at the guy for not killing Derek when he had the chance. 

Derek took advantage of her distraction to run, abandoning the Camaro in the motel parking lot – where it’s probably being ravaged by those assholes, goddammit – adrenaline and anger getting him far enough to steal a car and drive as fast as he dared away from San Francisco. He drove for hours on back roads, and when the car ran out of gas he abandoned it too, running into the woods to the east. He wasn’t sure how far the hunters would follow him, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. Luck hasn’t been on his side lately. Or ever. 

He knew he was close to Beacon Hills, a nowhere northern California town that werewolves across the country started hearing about almost two years ago, when Deucalion, known to many as the Demon Wolf, decided to settle there. He's heard mixed things about the alpha, more bad than good, to be honest, but Derek’s an omega who can’t shake some very determined hunters and he’s desperate. He’s been avoiding other wolves for years, since Laura was killed and he lost the last of his family along with the last of his pack, but he can’t anymore. He needs a pack. Needs pack protection if he’s going to make it much longer.

 _Why fucking bother_ , he thinks, panting, exhaustion finally starting to weaken him more than the screaming pain of the poisoned bullets. _Stop feeling sorry for yourself and fucking move_ , he hears Laura’s voice say in his head, the voice that has been pushing him to fight, to keep going, since he found her years ago, cut to pieces. _I can’t, Lo_ , he thinks, drinking in the forest air, his legs giving out. He slides roughly down the trunk of the tree, pulling off twigs and bark that stick in his hair and clothes. _It hurts too fucking much_ , he thinks, not sure if he’s referring to the bullets or the aching loneliness.

It’s stupid of him, but he falls asleep. It feels like he closes his eyes for just a second, but it’s long enough that when he wakes – startled by the sharp scent of unfamiliar wolves – he knows not to even bother trying to get away. Three wolves – two guys and a young woman, their eyes glowing gold, fangs bared – are circling the tree he’s sitting against. Derek just sighs, maybe even smiles a bit. At least he’ll be killed by his own kind. The way his life has been going lately, he considers it a gift.

But the beta closest to him – probably not more than twenty years old, with shaggy dark hair and a crooked jaw – leans over him with unclawed hands. Derek freezes on instinct, his own claws jolting out and burying themselves in the ground near his thighs. The kid, because really, he’s so young – grabs him roughly by the chin and pulls his head up, forcing Derek to meet his gold eyes. “You one of Deucalion’s former betas? Looking for revenge?” he asks, searching Derek’s face.

“What,” Derek croaks, voice scratchy from not speaking, stomach turning with bile as the effort to breathe and speak twists the silver bullet in his back. The kid smells like the forest they’re in, pine and damp earth, but woven through it, on top of and a part of this beta’s scent, is a musky thread of pure power. The alpha. Derek captures the scent, zeroes in on it, his body knowing instinctively that he needs an alpha, _this_ alpha. “Hunters,” he grunts out. “Hunters are after me. I’ve been shot. Wolfsbane and silver, I think.” He pulls his face from the beta’s grip, removing his hand from the dirt to pull up his sleeve, showing them the still-red patches of freshly healed skin haloed by purple-black veins.

The other guy, a huge black dude who’s been standing back looking bored, whistles. “Damn, that doesn’t look good,” he says softly.

“Boyd’s right,” the woman, a stunning blonde, says. “We should take him to St- “

The wolf still standing over him silences her with a growl. “We’re not taking him anywhere near town until we know he’s not a threat,” he says.

Derek’s body arches in response to the growl, his own fangs sliding free. He fights to control the shift, just barely stopping it, but he knows his eyes glow blue, and his own answering growl sounds more feral and wild than he remembers it ever being.

The woman steps back, snarling, and the other guy, Boyd, steps forward, his growl a low rumble as he crouches forward. “Fuck,” the first beta says, clearly surprised, squaring his shoulders to tower further over Derek. “Who’d you kill, omega?” he asks with a snarl.

“None of your fucking business,” Derek snarls through clenched teeth, vision starting to blur with the pain. He can feel the wolfsbane pushing its way through his body, making his blood sluggish. If they don’t take him to their alpha soon, he’ll be dead long before the hunters catch up with him.

“I don’t really think that’s our main concern here, Scott,” Boyd says. “If the hunters are following him they could show up any minute. We need to go.”

The woman still seems wary of Derek’s blue eyes but she steps toward him slowly, claws arcing gracefully from her small hands as she gets closer, big eyes narrowing as she looks him over. “Erica,” the beta standing over him, Scott, says with a warning.

Erica ignores him, steps even closer to Derek, nostrils flaring as she sniffs at him. Derek forces his eyes open, hoping they’re back to their normal hazel as he meets Erica’s challenging gaze. She grins, a sweet smile that makes her look even younger.

She crouches down, one booted foot close enough to nudge Derek’s thigh. She grabs his chin like Scott had, but gentler, her claws tickling into his stubble as she tilts his head up to look into his eyes. “What’s your name, big guy?”

“Hale. Derek Hale.”

Erica searches his eyes for a second. “He’ll want to meet him,” she says finally, standing up. Derek thinks the pain is starting to make him hallucinate, because he’s pretty sure she _winks_ at him.

Scott sighs in resignation, and Boyd walks over to help haul Derek to his feet. They each take a side, throwing his arms over their broad shoulders as they hurriedly walk him south, Erica leading the way.

“Your alpha,” he coughs, “I need to see your alpha.” He knows that without a bullet containing the exact same strain of wolfsbane he’s been shot with, the only chance he has at surviving is if he can convince Deucalion to use his alpha strength to heal him. Given the rumors about the so-called Demon Wolf, Derek assumes this will require submitting to him and officially joining his pack as his beta. He doesn’t want to imagine what that might actually entail, and for not the first time in his life, Derek has to seriously consider how badly he wants to live.

“Yeah, that’s where we’re heading, dude,” Scott says, not bothering to hide his irritation. “If we all don’t get shot by the hunters you’ve probably led straight to us,” he adds. 

Derek can’t really argue with him on that, so he just grunts and mumbles something that sounds vaguely like an apology. Laura would be proud.

He’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to hold himself up, even with Scott and Boyd supporting his rapidly-weakening body. Fortunately, they’re approaching a small parking lot that seems to serve as a trailhead, and Erica is jumping in the backseat of an old blue Jeep, Scott crawling in behind her. Boyd deposits him in the passenger seat with surprising gentleness and care before jogging around the front of the Jeep to get in the driver’s seat.

Boyd drives fast, thank god. The Jeep absolutely reeks of the alpha, and Derek is just aware enough to be confused as to why an alpha as powerful as Deucalion would ride around in a thirty-year old piece of shit Jeep. He can’t focus on that though, because Scott is on the phone, and Derek focuses all of his waning energy on trying to hear the other side of the conversation.

“Yeah, okay,” a deep, calm voice says. “Your mom’s on her way. I’ll talk to Deaton about the wolfsbane.” _Mom?_ Derek wonders.

“Tell Isaac and Jackson to concentrate their patrol on the northwestern quadrant of the preserve,” Scott replies. “That’s the direction he came from. If the hunters are tracking him, they’ll come from that direction. They need to be careful, Stiles. This guy’s pretty fucked up. I think these hunters are the real deal.”

“Fucking awesome,” the guy on the other end, Stiles, says, heavy on the sarcasm, echoing Derek’s own thought. _What the fuck kind of name is Stiles?_ “If they’re really that good though, they’ll figure out where he ran without having to track him. We’re going to have to increase patrols until we’re sure – “

The Jeep rocks over a hard bump, and the silver bullet in his back shifts, piercing his lung, pain searing through him, ripping a tortured howl from his throat as he arches up from the seat. Derek coughs black blood as he collapses against the window; the last thing he remembers before blacking out is an answering roar from the other end of the phone.

**~*~**

“Mom?” His voice sounds too soft, softer than he’s heard it since well before the fire. But that scent – he knows that perfume, and the woman across the room from him, the first person he sees when he opens his eyes, she…she has her back to him and has curly brown hair….

Reality catches up to Derek then, and he groans, head pounding, arm and back throbbing. Despite that, he feels better, stronger, his body seemingly free of both poisons. Had he submitted to Deucalion without being aware of it? How long has he been out? What have they done to him?

He forces himself to take in his surroundings before panicking. What he finds doesn’t really add up to dubious consent of any kind, and breathes a soft sigh of tentative relief. He’s laid out on his back on an exam table in what most definitely smells like a veterinarian’s office, the woman who is most certainly not his long-dead mother the only other person in the room. He’s not only healed, but he’s been cleaned up as well, and there’s a soft pillow under his head. He’s shirtless, but covered with a soft fleece blanket that smells like that Scott pup, and so does the woman who turns to look at him. She’s wearing jeans and a scrub top, stethoscope hanging around her neck.

“I’ve always said that if I’m ‘mom’ to one werewolf, I can be ‘mom’ to all werewolves, so sure,” she says, smiling. “But you can call me Melissa, if you prefer,” she adds, stepping over to push him back down from where he’s trying to sit up. “Your body’s been through a lot of trauma, Derek, and you’re healing quickly, but you still need rest. Lie still and let your body take care of itself, okay?”

He’s surprised at how easily he gives in to her, letting her push him back down and listen to his heartbeat. She takes his pulse too, her soothing fingers warm on his wrist. “You’re not a werewolf,” he says, sniffing softly just to make sure.

“Nope. But my son Scott is. Do you remember meeting him?” 

“Yes. And you helped me? Are you a vet?”

“A nurse. A people nurse, to be precise. Dr. Deaton is the vet, but they call me in for injuries of the more human variety.” She smiles again, and Derek senses nothing but honesty and concern, and he feels strongly compelled to trust her.

“A silver bullet to the back is a human injury around here?” he asks, wondering what he’s gotten himself into coming to Beacon Hills.

“Bullets lodged in a human – or mostly human – lung,” she corrects him. “The silver is incidental, which, if you don’t mind me asking, who shot you? All the hunters we’ve come across have only used wolfsbane bullets on werewolves. Most think silver is a myth.” Her eyes dart over to the counter, where the bullet, shining and clean, stands on its end.

“It is, mostly,” Derek winces, the tender muscles of his back knitting themselves back together twinging at the sight of the bullet that was just burrowing into his lung. “It doesn’t kill us, but if it gets in our blood it makes us sick. The hunter who shot me – the one with silver bullets – I don’t think he wanted to kill me. Just slow me down, talk to me, maybe.”

“But the one with the wolfsbane bullets?” Melissa asks, tucking another pillow under Derek’s head so he can sit up further.

Derek half-snorts, half-laughs. “She had other ideas,” he says. “Speaking of, how did you heal that?” His lifts his arm, which still feels heavy and too dense, but is clear of black veins, any trace of the bullet wound gone.

“That was Stiles. He said he wanted to talk to you as soon as you woke up, so I’m going to go get him, okay?” Melissa pats his hand before she leaves the room, leaving Derek wondering who this Stiles guy is and how he managed to heal wolfsbane poisoning without alpha powers. They must have had a suitable bullet after all. He has a very clear memory of the roar he heard from the phone right before passing out in the Jeep, and assumes it was this Stiles kid that Scott had been talking to. A werewolf, then, another of Deucalion’s many betas. 

As soon as Melissa is out of the room, Derek sits up and swings his legs off the table, pausing to make sure he’s not too dizzy before standing. He’s looking around for his shirt when the door behind him opens, the increasingly familiar scent of the alpha wafting into the room. Whoever this wolf is, he’s _extremely_ close to Deucalion.

When Derek turns and sees him, it all makes a kind of sense that twists in his gut. One of the most consistent rumors about the brutal Beacon Hills alpha is that he turns pretty human boys into his betas in order to make them more durable and submissive. Derek doesn’t know Deucalion’s type, but Jesus, this kid is _everyone’s_ type. He’s gorgeous, all honeyed-brown eyes and pouty pink mouth, sharp cheekbones and messy hair just long enough to pull. He's lithe and wiry, projecting strength despite his slender frame, and fuck, he can’t be more than nineteen or twenty and is _every_ werewolf in this goddamn town a fucking teenager?  

Derek pulls his eyes away from where’s he counting the moles on the kid’s cheek to meet his eyes as he speaks. “Derek?” he asks. “Hey, I’m Stiles.” He keeps his distance, but waves awkwardly, a dark shirt bunched up in his hand.

“Hello.” Derek is irritated at himself for gawking so openly, so he crosses his arms against his chest and leans back against the counter. His voice is curt and harsh, which is pretty stupid of him, considering he apparently owes this kid his life.

Stiles looks him up and down, his eyes lingering on his stomach, not bothering to hide his interest. Christ, Derek can smell the lust on the damn pup. What the fuck kind of game is Deucalion playing with him, sending this kid in here smelling like that?

“Here,” Stiles says, tossing the shirt at him. “It’s Boyd’s, so it should fit…all of that.” He waves his long, elegant fingers towards Derek, who catches the shirt and pulls it on, eyes meeting his again as he pulls it over his head. “We had to cut your shirt off,” Stiles continues, leaning back against the brick wall behind him. “Scott burned it, because of the wolfsbane. Hope it wasn’t a favorite.”

Derek growls and rolls his eyes. “You think I give a shit about a fucking shirt?” He does, in fact, give a shit about that particular shirt. It was his favorite sweater, to be exact, the one with the thumbholes. He’s sure as hell not going to tell Stiles that though.

“You know,” Stiles says thoughtfully, “for an omega who showed up on my doorstep moments from death, you’re not very forthcoming with the gratitude.” Derek doesn’t understand how someone so smug can be so fucking adorable, but this little shit is pulling it off.

“Where’s the alpha?” he snaps, tired of digging his nails into his palms to keep from pouncing the guy. Something about him is getting under his skin, making him want to take and give in a way he’s never felt before. The scent of Stiles' arousal is growing thicker and thicker, clouding around Derek, making his mouth water. He’s not exactly sure what exactly he’s gotten himself into, but he’s pretty sure fucking the alpha’s favorite boy toy won’t earn him any good will around here. He needs to get away from this kid _soon_.

Stiles doesn’t say anything, just raises those damn expressive eyebrows and bats those fucking eyelashes. “Look,” Derek says, trying his damnedest to sound like he’s not fighting for self-control, ignoring the way his body is responding instinctively to Stiles’ lust. “I guess I have you to thank for getting rid of the wolfsbane, so thank you. But I don’t have time for this. Will you please just go tell Deucalion that I want to talk to him?”

Stiles laughs, a sound almost as intoxicating as his arousal. “What do you want, omega?” he says finally, smiling softly. 

“I want to talk to the alpha, not some pup!” Derek barks, exasperated.

“That’d be me,” Stiles replies with a mischievous lift of his eyebrows, smirk dancing at the corners of that fucking mouth.

“Yeah, right,” Derek huffs. 

Stiles’ stupid little smirk grows, and _fuck_ , those golden brown eyes go crimson and luminous, his scent spiking with that hum of hot, musky power that beckoned Derek earlier, beckons him even more forcefully now. It sends a quivering shiver of want through him, and his wolf moans to submit, his eyes burning blue. He wants to fall to his knees, bare his throat, let Stiles use him as he sees fit. “You’re…” he chokes out, words cutting off when Stiles strides closer, stopping just inches from him.

“The alpha now,” he finishes for him. “Deucalion’s dead.”

Stiles is close enough to touch, and Derek wants to so badly, but he knows he won’t stop once he does and he can’t, not now, not yet, not when he knows so little about where he is and who he’s with. “You killed him?” he asks, trying to hide the incredulity in his voice. Stiles’ power is impressive, but Deucalion was one of the most powerful alphas in existence. “How long ago?”

“I don’t like to talk about it,” Stiles says, eyes downcast. “But yeah, I did. Three months ago. The fact that you’re surprised is good news to me. It means the news hasn’t traveled that far yet.”

He’s right – Beacon Hills is literally a beacon for mystical energy, and as soon as word gets around that the local alpha isn’t even of drinking age – and likely hasn’t even been a werewolf that long – dying omegas and hunters will be the least of Stiles’ worries.

“How long have you been a werewolf?” Derek asks, shifting his weight slightly so his arms, still crossed, brush against Stiles’ arm, heat sparking where their skin touches.

“What makes you think I'm not a born wolf like you?” Stiles retorts, eyes flashing red again, but the display of power is playful, lacking the instinctive edge of a command.

“How do know that I am?” Derek quips back, heart racing.

“I’ve been researching werewolf lineages for some time now,” Stiles answers, raising a hand and placing it lightly on Derek’s shoulder, who shudders with the touch, eyes fluttering closed before he can stop them. “I know quite a bit about you, Derek Hale,” he whispers, voice all liquid seduction.

Derek is breathless, overwhelmed. “You’re still in pain,” Stiles says, brow furrowing, voice darting from lust to concern in a heartbeat. His hand slides under the collar of Derek’s borrowed shirt, skin seeking skin. The veins of his hand and forearm darken as he leeches the lingering pain from Derek's back and arm, the throbbing of his head subsiding too.

Derek leans into the touch, moaning in pleasure, and then Stiles’ other hand is on him, brushing over his abs as he pushes him towards the exam table. It hits the back of Derek’s thighs and he sits, legs falling open to welcome Stiles, who slots himself there neatly without hesitation. He buries his face in the alpha’s neck and inhales, hips thrusting wantonly. “Stiles,” he pants, too far gone to be embarrassed with how needy he sounds, with how vulnerable he’s letting himself be with a man, _an alpha_ , he just met.

Stiles removes his hand from under his shirt, tracing his fingertips up his neck to run them through the stubble along his jaw. “Derek, do you want this? Do you really want me, or is this just, an alpha thing? Or because I healed you?”

“It’s you,” Derek gasps, mouthing at his neck. “I wanted you the second you walked in, when I thought you were Deucalion’s. Were you ever…” he trails off, not sure he wants to know the answer, not sure he should even be asking.

“No,” Stiles says emphatically. “It was a close call, but never. And I would never use my power like he did. That’s why I have to know Derek, have to know for sure that you actually want this. Because holy fuck, the moment I saw you I fucking wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone and I know you were unconscious and that’s probably creepy as fuck but I don’t care, I just need to make sure that I’m not abusing my power because I don’t want to be like – “

Derek cuts him off with a kiss, gentle and hesitating at first, asking permission. Stiles grants it eagerly, mouth opening for him, tongue darting out to take control. Soon it’s urgent and fevered, heat buzzing between them as they devour each other. Stiles leans into him as Derek reaches back to cup his ass, good god, what a perfect ass it is too, fitting neatly into his hands. He hauls him up so Stiles is straddling him, cocks rubbing against each other between way too many layers of fabric.

Stiles finally breaks the kiss, mouth red and shiny with spit when he pulls away. He’s panting, eyes glowing red as he leans his forehead against Derek’s. “What do you want?” 

“I want to suck your dick,” Derek whispers, surprising himself with just how badly he really does want that. “I want you to come all over me, mark me as yours.”

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles pulls the borrowed shirt off of him, diving back in for a kiss as he runs those hands over his chest. Derek grunts in frustration at the layers of Stiles’ shirt, peeling off the flannel and nearly tearing his t-shirt in two. Finally his beautiful, mole-speckled chest is bare, a canvas Derek wants to paint with bites and spit and come. 

He growls with pleasure and jumps up from the table, pushing Stiles to his feet and pressing him gently against the brick wall he was leaning against earlier. The air is heavy with the scent of their combined arousal, making Derek feel drunk with lust and affection. He falls to his knees easily, hands working quickly to get Stiles’ pants and underwear down around his ankles. 

Stiles’ hard, cut cock – _see, not a born werewolf_ , he thinks with a smirk – is impressively large and thick, giving Derek wildly vivid visions of all the ways he could make himself come while riding it. “This isn’t going to be a one time thing,” he informs him, slightly worried that Stiles won’t want more than this. “I have plans, many, many plans for you.” He bares his neck, submitting, gasping in delight when Stiles squeezes him there lightly.

“Fuck yes,” he moans. “You’re not going anywhere for a long time, omega,” he growls. 

Derek licks a slow, sloppy line up the underside of his cock, twirling his tongue around the head a few times before opening wide to swallow Stiles all the way down, humming with pleasure when his head hits the back of his throat. His scent is concentrated at the base, and he inhales deeply before sliding off and down again, sucking and licking, ravishing Stiles’ cock with a hunger he’s never felt before but can’t get enough of. Stiles twists his hands in his hair, pulling slightly, and Derek lifts his own hands to the alpha’s hips, encouraging him thrust. Stiles does, grunting louder and louder as he fucks into his eager mouth.

It’s not long before he pulls out completely, Derek moving his hands to jack his wet, red dick; Stiles comes quickly, gasping and growling as he releases pulse after pulse of scorching hot come across Derek’s face and neck. He keeps a firm, stroking hand on him, licking the last of drop of come from his slit before Stiles’ legs buckle and he slides down the wall to the floor, legs spread around where Derek’s still on his knees.

Derek is still buzzing with delight at the explosion of pleasure sparked by the taste of Stiles’ come on his tongue, so it takes him a moment to realize that Stiles has unbuttoned his jeans and has pulled out his throbbing cock, dripping with precome and twitching. Stiles pulls his hand away to rub it through his stubble, gathering up his own come to use as slick against Derek’s straining cock. He bends down to kiss him, mouth needy and grateful as he thrusts into Stiles’ fist, coming in long, quivering bursts across the alpha’s blush-reddened chest, gasping into his mouth as his orgasm sparks a blaze that lights him up from the inside out, leaving him trembling and moaning.

They collapse in a heap on the floor, limbs and clothes twisted as they pant, basking in the afterglow. They’re both quiet for a long time before Stiles reaches a hand up to cup Derek’s jaw, pulling him into a slow, tender kiss.

“Welcome to the pack, omega,” he says, eyes flashing red.

**Author's Note:**

> [come say hello on the Tumbles](http://deleted-scenes.tumblr.com/)


End file.
